(forgot to note the day) june, 2012
i’ve a hunger
to ink the phrase, or something akin,
across the hill-bone of my cheek skin,
and was fucked
across the many surfaces of a vacant, otherwise soundless, bar!”
this happened while the sun poked holes in the other hemisphere.
but the world begs for subtler declarations.
so i settle for crusted cum
gumming the public flesh of my black shirt;
little white kisses,
pretending they’re leftover fingerprints
from powdered-doughnut thieves.
i wonder to the still houses, afterhours,
as sinister expressions and i bicycle back,
"will he clean the bar top?
or will our ghosts become his private joke,
while others release different stresses
atop its surface?”